


Til Death do us part

by alicewonder87



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: American Wizarding detective, Extramarital Affairs, F/M, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 04:40:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20718239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alicewonder87/pseuds/alicewonder87
Summary: Grace is waiting for her husband to come home from work. She finally has that package she's been waiting for hoping it would answer her questions, only for it add more. She's ready to hear his side of the story. No more secrets. No more lies. Time to come clean.





	Til Death do us part

**Author's Note:**

> This is another fic of mine from FF. I did make some changes, added some things. This was quite unpopular when I first posted it, but like most writers, I often write things that some people might not care for. I still stand by this work, even with the changes I've made. Hope you like it, but if not, that's okay too. No beta, so all mistakes are mine.

She waited in the dark for him to come home. Held onto the burning cigarette between her fingers. Watched the end glow bright red in the dim room. The smoke rose and curled around her as she sat in the shabby armchair. It was fraying in places but was comfortable. Just what she needed. Her mind ran at full speed as she thought about what the detective brought her while she was cleaning the house. Her fingers smashed the burning cigarette into the ashtray as another hour passed. She wondered how long she would have to wait before he finally came home. 

She reached for another cigarette. Holding it in the palm of her hand, she rolled it back and forth. Her eyes flew to the one she’d crushed out. She had let it burn in her fingers but ached to take a pull from the end. Smoking was her one vice when she was stressed. It was the one thing she couldn’t turn too now. Setting the unlit cigarette on the table, she pulled the small golden envelope towards her. She pulled out the pictures, the letters, and other evidence. Her heart clenched in her chest tightly and tears pricked the corner of her eyes as she stared down at the pictures. He was laughing with her. Smiling. He had his arm around her in one photo and the woman in question gave him a dazzling grin. 

Her letters to him were filled with love and affection, full of hope for what their future would be if only he could be rid of her. His wife. She remembered how she felt when she took the packet from the detective. He’d handed her the small packet, and she handed him a small envelope. He’d placed it in the pocket of his coat and asked her what she hoped to accomplish by reading what was contained within. She didn’t know then, and even now, after reading the copies of the letters, after seeing the pictures, she still didn’t know. All she knew was the facts. And her hurt crept around her heart as overgrown vines did on an abandoned house. Her love was like that house, slowly getting more and more choked out the longer she read the letters, the longer she gazed at the photos. 

Finally, the door opened and he stepped in. He was quiet as he turned to shut the door. He hesitated a moment, and she knew he hadn’t yet seen her seated in the chair. She reached out and flicked her wand toward the lamp nearest him. The living room of the cottage they shared was awash in a soft glow. The light shone on the space they shared. Pictures littered the walls and knick-knacks scattered around on the tables. His emerald eyes landed on her, seated in the chair. 

His eyes, always so warm, showed his surprise. “Grace, what are you doing awake?” 

She let out a soft sigh. Watched him as he took a seat in the chair next to her. He slipped off his shoes and slid his arms out of his robe. He tossed the robe over to the couch. 

Finally, she said, “How was work?”  
He snorted softly as he sat further back in the chair. “Work was fine. Hermione and I finally made some way into finding some of the rogue Death Eaters.” 

Her heart clenched in her chest at the name. Hermione. She glanced down at the pictures in her hands, at the letters she held. She could feel the jealousy creeping in again. She was beautiful. 

She cleared her throat, “So, I got this today. I think we need to talk about it, Harry.” 

And she handed the pictures and letters over to him. Her fingers brushed his in the transfer, and she no longer felt the spark that normally accompanied such an action. She wasn’t sure if it was because she was still in shock, or if she was too angry. 

His eyes widened with shock. He flipped through each letter, each picture. She noted his hands were trembling as he set the papers on the coffee table. 

His voice was quivering as he said, “Who gave this to you Grace?” 

Grace was surprised her voice was steady as she answered, “Detective Anderson. He works in the United States. He came highly recommended when Pansy Parkinson suggested I employ his services. Said it was amazing what those American wizarding detectives could dig up.”

Harry let out a huge sigh, twisted the gold wedding ring he wore on his left hand. 

Finally, he spoke, “How long have you known?”

Grace’s voice was low, “Today. He finished today. Brought it by as I was cleaning.”

Silence reigned between them. Finally, she asked the question she’d been wondering for months. 

“Why? Why Hermione? Was I not good enough for you Harry?” Grace was surprised to hear her voice crack at the last question. She felt the tears slipping down her face, but didn’t register them. 

Harry looked uncomfortable. She knew him, knew he was trying to figure out his thoughts. What he would say. 

“I don’t know Grace. It just happened. It shouldn’t have, but it did. It was a mistake.” Harry’s voice was soft but carried a firm resolve in it. He truly did regret what he was doing. 

Grace kept her voice firm, “It needs to stop. Now. Break it off.”

Harry kept his eyes low, but she knew he understood. If word got out, it would be a nightmare for all involved. She saw him flinch and figured he was imagining the public’s reaction if they found out. 

But she had other news to tell him. “Harry, I’m pregnant.” 

His eyes flew up to her coffee-colored ones. Shock and surprise registered in those green eyes. They’d been trying for months for a baby with no success. It figured that as soon as they stopped trying, she was pregnant. 

Harry rose from the armchair and reached out to pull her up. She let him, stood quietly as he lifted the edge of her tank top, as his fingers slipped over the slightly rounded swell of her stomach. 

“How far along?” The question was spoken softly, his lips mere inches from her abdomen. 

Grace kept her voice low, “4 months. The doctors think it might be a boy.” 

Harry’s eyes filled with tears as he stared up at his wife, “a boy? A son?” 

Grace nodded. Harry’s eyes fell back to her stomach and he rose. His fingers stayed pressed lightly on the soft flesh. 

His eyes locked with hers. “I’m sorry Grace. Forgive me?” 

Grace sighed, “It’s going to take a while, Harry. Trust is easily broken, hard to repair.”

Harry nodded. He embraced her, his arms tight around her. Harry pressed his lips to hers softly.   
She watched him walk towards the fireplace, watched him grab a handful of Floo powder. She shifted her weight as he tossed it into the fire with an easy grace. He yelled out the name of Hermione’s flat and poked his head through. 

Grace watched him as he spoke to her. She heard the anxious tone Hermione used and watched her husband turn back around. He met her eyes for a second and she nodded. He reached out his hand and pulled the other witch through the fire. Hermione’s eyes landed on Grace and she gave the other witch a soft grin. 

“Grace, its wonder-” Hermione’s voice died out as she spotted the letters and pictures still spread on the table. 

Hermione drew herself up with that quiet intensity that had been so useful to her during the war and leveled her gaze at Grace. 

“I’m not going to apologize if that’s what you are looking for. And don’t make Harry choose between us. I’m afraid you won’t like the outcome.” Her eyes were steely, her voice hard. 

Harry turned his attention to the woman who had been his best friend since he’d been 11 and Grace watched as he told her, in his way, that their relationship was over. He wasn’t leaving his wife. He couldn’t afford the scandal, and he wasn’t about to give up. That wasn’t his style.

Grace watched Hermione’s eyes fill with tears, watched as the man she’d come to love told her he honestly regretted what they were doing. Her eyes were full of confusion as Harry told her he still loved his wife. How he couldn’t leave her now. This was his chance to make things right and he wasn’t going to blow that. 

Hermione’s eyes darted from Harry to where Grace stood. She quickly took in her appearance and noted something she seemed to have missed before. She hadn't bothered to note much about Grace in the months during her affair with her husband, but she wondered how she could have missed her softly rounded stomach. 

Her voice was breathless as she locked eyes with the other witch. "You're pregnant." She watched Grace nod, her lips pressed together in a tight line. 

When Grace finally spoke, her voice carried a soft edge to it. "Figures when Harry and I finally stopped trying, when his attention turned to you and not me, that I wound up pregnant. I promise you, I was just as surprised as you are." 

Harry nodded. “I don’t love you, Hermione. I don’t know if I ever did. I wanted to find some kind of release from the failure I was having in my marriage. That was wrong. Grace didn’t deserve this. She’s willing to forgive me, in time. I need to be a good father to my child I can’t continue this anymore.” 

Hermione rose, anger radiating off her in waves. “ This is wrong. I love you, Harry.”

Her eyes pleaded with him, and he walked over where I stood. His eyes held a quiet strength. “I’m sorry Hermione, but I don’t love you.” 

Hermione reached for the floo tears in her eyes and went to leave. Her eyes landed back on where he stood with me. She was at war with herself. Finally, she spoke: “ Congratulations.” 

Harry and I stood in the dark living room. Neither one of us spoke. Harry reached out and picked up the letters and pictures and tossed them in the dying flames of the fire. The flames roared up a bright orange as they consumed the evidence of his affair with Hermione. Once they were ashes, Harry reached out his hand and pulled me up the stairs to the bedroom we shared. I knew it would take a long time for me to forgive him. I knew, in some part of my mind, that I loved him. I knew that a natural reaction would have been to leave. But I couldn’t leave.

I made a vow. In sickness and in health, through all walks of life. Till death do us part. Like Harry, I wasn’t about to give up so easily.


End file.
